


Listen to the Turning Tide

by RiseHigh



Series: Cursed Beginnings and Blessed Ends [3]
Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, But with resolution, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Or at least with catharsis, Post-Series 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseHigh/pseuds/RiseHigh
Summary: When it was announced her stop was next, Quill dug through her handbag for her phone and checked the messages out of habit.Bane of My Existence:  Where are you?Rolling her eyes, Quill dropped the phone back into her bag without even unlocking it.  She did all this without a twinge, ache, or any other pain in her head.  A slow smile spread across her face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Since the show really didn't give us enough of Quill coming to terms with her insta-pregnancy I decided I needed to write some attempt at her being introspective because you know she has to have complicated and conflicted feelings about all of it. At the same time, I go off on a tangent where Quill sort of makes friends with a barista. So yeah, hopefully this doesn't come across as too disjointed.

Quill awoke to a quiet house.  The boys were still asleep—as they always were on Saturday mornings—but this morning was different.  This morning there would no need for her to put her life on hold while waiting for the prince to roll out of bed.  Quill made her coffee and poured it into a black travel mug that had a white outline of grumpy cat on it.  Matteusz had bought it weeks ago and put it in the cupboard with her coffee.  She had been intentionally avoiding it, but this morning she didn’t care.

The Shadow Kin were dead, the arn was out of her head, and she gave zero fucks if anyone saw her with a grumpy cat coffee mug.

Besides none of the children or anyone else from that damn school would be seeing her today.  Quill left the house and headed for the Tube station.  She got off at St. Pancras and walked through the throngs of people until she got to the board of train times.  They were too many of them.  Too many options, choices, and people chattering and bustling about.  She needed to get out of London and the Southeastern was set to leave in six minutes.  She had no idea what was to the southeast, but it wasn’t London so it would work.

Quill walked to the self-service ticket machine.  The technology was clunky and inefficient given the simple task it was designed to perform, but it didn’t involve a conversation with a human so it was better than a human.  Apparently, she needed to select a destination.  Looking at the list of station names, she arbitrarily picked one called Whitsable and selected an open return ticket.

Quill spent the ride staring out the window—ignoring the other people who got on and off the train.  Occasionally someone would approach her, seeking to claim the open seat that held nothing but her handbag.  All she had to do was glance at her stomach and back up to the person and they scurried off to leave her alone. When it was announced her stop was next, Quill dug through her handbag for her phone and checked the messages out of habit.

 **Bane of My Existence:**   _Where are you?_

Rolling her eyes, Quill dropped the phone back into her bag without even unlocking it.  She did all this without a twinge, ache, or any other pain in her head.  A slow smile spread across her face.  She could ignore the prince as much as she wanted.  Unbidden, her eyes welled up at the thought and she blinked back the tears.

She was free and yet, what was she doing?  Crying on a train like a teenage girl.

Pathetic.

* * *

 Whitsable, Quill discovered, was a seaside town.  There were worse places to end up, she supposed.  It wasn’t busy than London, which had some appeal, but it was still England—still Earth.  Quill needed coffee.  The liquid in her ridiculous travel mug had lasted barely fifteen minutes into the train ride.  Unfortunately, fewer people than London also meant that Whitsable had fewer coffee places.  This would teach her to choose her destination based on a timetable alone.

Quill walked past a number of houses and a few different shops before she finally found a Costa Coffee.  The smell of the beans welcomed her and she could all but feel the cup in her hand as she waited in the short queue.  But then she heard a Polish voice in her head lecturing her on the perils of caffeine.  She was 99% certain that she could drink a gallon of coffee without it having any impact on her alien self or her alien baby.  Yet, a 1% risk was a still a risk.

“Medium hot chocolate,” she ordered reluctantly.

“Marshmallows and/or whip cream?”

Quill stared at the woman in confusion.  She hadn’t expected follow-up questions.  The Polish one had made her hot chocolate the night before and he hadn’t asked such questions.  She knew what marshmallows were (the teenagers had sat around eating them on one of their movie nights) but she had no idea whether they had been included in the hot chocolate she drank yesterday.

“I’d recommend both,” she suggested.

Quill studied the woman.  Fair skin, red hair, and bright blue eyes that couldn’t hide anything—there was no reason not to trust her suggestion.  She nodded.

“It will help distract you from the fact it’s not coffee.”

“How did you know I wanted coffee?” Quill asked as she handed her a tenner.

“I know the look,” the woman—Beth, according to her nametag—said.  “And I’ve been pregnant before.”

Quill dropped some of her change into the tip jar and forced a smile.  Well, not a smile exactly, but it was something other than the frown.  This Beth _was_ responding to her question, so she didn’t deserve a glare.

“Looks like you’ll be able to drink it again soon.” She gave Quill was likely meant to be a conspiratorial wink.  “And you’ll need it.  Trust me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

There was no one else in the queue behind her, so the woman stepped away from the till to make the hot chocolate.  Quill started to shift to where the man who had been in front of her was waiting for his drink, but this Beth continued speaking.  Apparently asking one question opened the door for an entire conversation.  Quill should know better by now.  She reluctantly stayed rooted where she was.

“You from London, then?” she asked.  Quill must have given her another confused look, so she clarified, “Your accent.”

Now that Quill thought about it Beth’s accent was different than hers—different than the ones of the teenagers.  Goddess, what did it say about her that she beginning to notice the difference in accents?  She was assimilating.  Gross.  She looked up to find Beth glancing over at her as she worked—clearly waiting for an answer.

“Yes.”

“I lived there for a while, but I came back to be closer to my mum,” she explained even though Quill hadn’t asked.  “I want to move back, but it’s hard to say no to free childcare, you know?”

Quill found herself nodding even though the concept of paying for childcare baffled her.  What kind of modern society required women to return to the workforce while simultaneous forcing them to use the money they earned to pay someone to mind their children?  It was hardly an efficient system.

“What brings you out here?” Beth asked.  “Family in the area?”

“Just needed to get out of the city for a bit.”

Quill expected another question, but Beth just nodded and dropped the question.  “Well, Whitsable isn’t the most glamorous of places to visit in the late November, but the weather is pleasant enough today, so if you really want to get away for a bit I recommend the trails by Tankerton Slopes."

Quill gave her a skeptical look as she slid the hot chocolate across the counter

“It’s peaceful up there.”  Beth’s smile shifted from pleasant one (that she likely used on all customers in hopes of getting more tips) to a smirk. Quill liked the smirk more than the fake smile.  “And no one will bother you or try force you into a conversation.”

“Ah, so you do have some self-awareness.”

“Morning rush is over and lunch isn’t for an hour.  I need something to entertain me.”

Quill raised an eyebrow.  “And you chose me as your victim?”

“Have to do something to pass the time,” Beth said with a shrug.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t seem it,” she countered and the woman smirked again.  Quill sighed and rolled her eyes.   “So which way to these slopes then?”

Beth grabbed a piece of paper advertising some musician, flipped it over, and drew a quick map on the back.  “You may want to bring a sandwich or something with you.  There are a lot of nice benches for a picnic.”

Quill didn’t actually know what a picnic was but suspected she wouldn’t like it.  “Do I look like someone who would enjoy a picnic?”

“You don’t have to picnic.  You can just eat a sandwich while glaring at the sea.”

“Fine.”  Quill picked the first sandwich on the menu and handed Beth another tenner.  “But you’re not getting another tip.”

Beth just shrugged and went about making the sandwich, while talking about the history of the town or the slopes or something.  Quill wasn’t listening.

Rather, she studied Beth and tried to figure her out.  She seemed to be plagued with the same human need to talk to fill the silence, but unlike virtually everyone Quill encountered, Beth did not hit her with a barrage of questions about her pregnancy.  Sure, the woman had commented about coffee, but she hadn’t asked about due date, gender, maternity leave, birth plans, morning sickness, daycares, prams, or any of that nonsense.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked abruptly.

Beth held up a piece of bread.  “You ordered a sandwich.”

“I mean, being so _friendly_ ,” Quill clarified.  “You don’t know me and you’re not trying to flirt with me.”  Although maybe she was wrong. She could be terrible at reading these humans sometimes.  “Are you?”

Beth looked taken aback by the directness of the question.  “Uh, no.  I’m into blokes.  Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for who you are.  Just answer my question.”

“Well, I have social skills,” she said with an uncertainty that made it unclear whether it was a statement or a question.

“You didn’t chat up the two people who were ahead of me in the queue.”

“I dunno,” Beth said with a shrug.  “All the mums and mums-to-be here are so cheery—like their entire existence revolves around their babies.  Whereas you’re all serious and kind of bitter.”  She handed Quill the wrapped sandwich.  “It’s refreshing.”

“I’m glad my annoyance with the human race amuses you.”

“It’s a gift to the world,” Beth said with a laugh.  “Besides laughter is the only effective weapon of the human race.’”

“Laughter, as a weapon?” Quill shook her head.  “You can’t be serious.  Laughter would be utterly ineffective weapon.”

“It’s just a quote from Mark Twain—well, a quote that I rephrased slightly.”  Quill gave her a blank stare.  “The American writer,” she clarified.  “Been working towards my teaching certificate.”

“Your funeral,” Quill commented before she could stop herself.

“You teach?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Beats being a barista.”

“Only because you haven’t done it.”  Quill would never understand why teaching in the English school system had an appeal for anyone.  “Talk to me after you’ve spent a week trapped in a classroom with lesson after lesson of self-centered teenage brats.”

“I bet your students love you,” Beth drawled sarcastically.

“You have no idea.”  Quill picked up her handbag from where it had been resting on the countertop.  “Well, this has been a… a conversation.”

“Certainly has,” she agreed.  “I would say ‘see you around’ but…”

“Unlikely.”

* * *

As promised, the slopes were free of intrusive humans.  There was a woman with a dog who nodded at her when she passed and an older couple that smiled in her direction, but she was otherwise left to the solitude of the grassland along the seafront.  Parts of the slopes were dotted with brightly colored tiny cottages while others were devoid of buildings.  Quill liked the parts without buildings the most because they gave her an unobstructed view of the stony shore.

The lack of interruptions—the silence—was soothing.  For the first time in longer than Quill could remember, she was allowed to just be.  There was no arn in her head, no prince to obey, and no people to avenge.  The pain was still there—the aching loss for her people and her hatred towards Charles for what he and the Rhodians had done to her—but she had gotten her vengeance.  The Shadow Kin were wiped from the face of universe and Charles had been dealt the punishment he so richly deserved.

Quill had fought back against those who had harmed her and now all that was left for her to do was to keep living in spite of it all.  The problem was: Quill had no idea how to live in this human world—let alone how to be a mother in it.  She didn’t have any idea how to be a mother.  Quill weren’t mothers.  They gave birth and then they died, but not her—she would have to deal with this… this child.  She would have to become something she was not.

Forcing the thoughts and the fears back, Quill continued walking and focused on the smell of the air and the feel of the earth under her feet.  She had to keep moving forward—that is what mattered—that was how she would survive.

After a few minutes, she came upon another one of the cannons she had seen at the start of her walk.  They were old and out of use—relics of a time and wars gone by—relics of an England in which it might have been easier for Quill to fit.  She stopped to run her hand along the cannon.  The weapon was antiquated—its surface was rough and pitted from age and exposure to the elements—but it was beautiful.  A show of power and strength to be used to defend its people—that was something Quill could understand.

It was how she had lived her life—how she had expected to die.

Quill had believed in her cause and in the strength of her people, but she was a realist.  The Rhodian resources—many of which were plundered from the Quill—were greater, and contrary to their claim that they were above violence, the Rhodians had trained soldiers and developed weaponry ‘for their defense.’  The Quill would persevere, but she might not.  Odds were, she’d take her last breath on the battlefield, and it would be fighting until that last breath that would be the final gift she gave her people.

Still, there had been the rare moment when, after a victory in battle, Quill allowed herself to believe she might actually live to see her people win the damn war.  In those fleeting moments, she could picture herself returning to the southern continent—a _free_ southern continent—with the Quill she loved.  She would have a litter—give her life to her litter—and they would carry on her strength.  They would grow up brave and free.  They would fight to preserve the Quill way of life and, when their time came, would pass that same strength to their own litters.

But that had been little more than a fantasy.

A twinge—no, a kick more like—brought her back from her reverie.

Her hand slipped from the cannon to her stomach.  This wasn’t a fantasy.  This was reality—a reality for which she had never asked.  She should be grateful to be carrying a life inside her.  All life was precious.  Quill knew that better than anyone.  She should be celebrating a part-Quill child that would carry on their legacy, but she couldn’t ignore the deep hole next to the space where the baby kicked and hiccupped—a hole that felt like it would keep widening until she collapsed into it.

Her hand dropped from her stomach and she slumped against the side of the cannon

Quill had just gotten her free will back—her _self_ back—and now she would be losing it all over again.  The minute this child was born her life would no longer be hers.  This child would consume her—maybe not in a literal sense—but her life would no longer be her own.  The independence—the _self_ —that she had fought so hard to regain would be lost.  She would be bound to this child for the rest of her days.

She would lose her freedom.

Again.

No—not again, but already.  Quill would die for this child—sacrifice everything for it.

Its survival already mattered more to her than her own in a way that was stronger than anything she had ever felt—even when she had been fighting for her people.  All of the emotions she had been holding in since the moment she awoke from hibernation to find herself pregnant—the sadness, gratitude, frustration, awe, confusion, excitement, fear, happiness, and longing—bubbled to the surface.

Doubling over, she cried big, heavy sobs that took her breath away.

Quill forced herself to acknowledge all of the feelings whether they were good and the bad and let herself grieve for the independent self she had already started to lose.  She wasn’t sure how long she cried, but the tears eventually slowed.  She felt drained, but somehow lighter.  Wiping her eyes, Quill straightened her shoulders and leaned back against the cannon.  Her hands instinctively returned to her stomach.

Closing her eyes, Quill focused on that instinct.

The thought of this life inside of her—a life should would have to somehow mother—was still overwhelming and terrifying, but the knowledge that she had some instincts was a comfort.  So many of her instincts contradicted this human world, but this one—the need to protect her child—actually aligned with it.  Tanya had said as much the day the Shadow Kin attacked, but it hadn’t fully sunk in until this moment.

The realization felt like a flicker of hope.  Maybe she really could be a mother without losing who she was as a Quill.

Her gaze drifted to the shore where two teenagers were laughing while daring each other to brave the cold water.  Normally, this kind of display of human exuberance would annoy her, but instead, it brought her back to childhood.  She didn’t grow up near the coast, so there had never been water like this, but there had been a lake.  She and her sisters would spend hot summer afternoons fighting in the shallow water until the matron called them in for supper.  A year a later, the first of the droughts began and the lake dried up.  The clan had been forced to move not long after.

“There will be none of that for you, little one,” she said as she absently rubbed her stomach.  “I will teach you to fight, though.  Don’t you worry.”

She would bring the child here, Quill decided.  Teach her to fight in the water the way her sisters taught her.  It would be one of the many gifts she would give her child.  Quill stared at the waves and the teenagers for a few moments longer before heading back in the direction of town.

* * *

 Once on the train again, Quill pulled out her phone to find a missed call from Charles along with two more text messages.

 **Bane of My Existence:**   _Where have you gone?_

 **Bane of My Existence:**   _What are you doing?_

There was also a text from the Polish One explaining that they were leaving for the service for Tanya’s mum and that they hoped to see her there.  While not demanding, it was a shade passive aggressive.  It didn’t warrant a response either.  She had no need for these human funerary customs.  She dropped her phone back into her handbag and didn’t pull it out again until the train approached St. Pancras.

 **Bane of My Existence:**   _Are you all right?_

That was different. He seemed to be expressing concern or—more likely—the Polish One told him to stop texting demands for a report on her actions.  Either way, it was an improvement and deserved some kind of response.

 **Quill:** _Yes._

His response was almost immediate.  Maybe the prince legitimately was concerned—or he just had his phone out because he was texting his friends.

 **Bane of My Existence:**   _Good.  April is over and we’re ordering pizza.  Will you want some?_

 **Quill:** _Pepperoni._

 **Bane of My Existence:** _Got it._

Seemed like he was actually trying.  Quill sighed and supposed she could try as well.

 **Quill** : _Thx._

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? First Beth was just going to be a nameless barista, then she was going to be flirty Beth the potential gf, but as I started writing her she just felt more like Beth the-overly-chatty-not-absorbed-in-mommy-culture-single-mum-potential-friend Quill needs. 
> 
> (And, as always, I borrowed a few things directly from evilqueenofgallifrey's fic, e.g., text names, and I'm pretty sure my use of 'little one' was influenced by a tumblr convo with her as well. She's highly influential.)


End file.
